


strike, and cure his heart

by sungchanery



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: ...of sorts, Blood Drinking, Finger Sucking, M/M, Modern Royalty, Power Play, Vampires, Verbal Humiliation, cock stepping, first vamp fic hellooooo, this is all about losing and holding power ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungchanery/pseuds/sungchanery
Summary: Blood drips between Jeno’s parted lips, coating his tongue in delicious red.If it feels this good, it can’t be wrong.And if it’s not wrong, it can't be a slip up.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 151





	strike, and cure his heart

**Author's Note:**

> [slaps my ao3 account's roof] this bad boy can only fit two fics every god knows how many months ! 
> 
> i'm back, a week after posting tentacle porn, and for what? yeah, u guessed it. more monsterfucking. is this my brand now? i'm not complaining. 
> 
> this idea has been swimming in my brain juice for quite a long time now and since im drowning myself in the university assignment soup i decided to just say fuck it and write. so here, have my Child, my First Vampire Fic Ever. 
> 
> a biiiiiig thank you as always to [mari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkhhhx/pseuds/mkhhhx) for being my strongest trooper and to [lua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laehys/pseuds/laehys) for sharing the One monsterfucking braincell with me, always enabling me <3 love u both dearly <3 
> 
> hope you enjoy!! :D

Blood drips between Jeno’s parted lips, coating his tongue in delicious red. Every thought of his gives place to delirious euphoria, pleasure settling in his every cell. His brain, in all its haziness, digs deep into its crevices for clues – how and why he ended up _here_ , he doesn’t know, and even after his efforts, he draws a blank. 

He can’t remember, and yet, he doesn’t mind. If it feels this _good,_ it can’t be wrong. And if it’s not wrong, it can't be a slip up. 

* * *

“And this is my son, Jeno,” his dad introduces him to another ancient looking vampire he can’t recognize even if he should have, and Jeno, in all his propriety, bows and musters his kindest smile for the man. “He is my eldest.” 

“Ready to join the company, Jeno?” The man laughs knowingly and that rings a bell in Jeno’s head. He has seen the man before – in one of the meetings his dad persisted he should have been present. That’s why he didn’t remember him; Jeno would rather have been anywhere else but there, at the time.

Coincidentally, this applies to tonight as well.

“Jeno has been accompanying me lately, he’s learning the ropes,” his dad talks before Jeno even gets to open his mouth and to be perfectly honest, Jeno is grateful. He hasn’t drunk enough for this; his mental library of standardized replies when it comes to his being the heir of a company like theirs – one of the most competitive in the industry, taking over both human and vampire fields by storm – is not adequately equipped to take him far. He goes along with everything his dad has to say, nods when he should, forces out a laugh whenever something he might have found funny if he paid attention is mentioned, and when the chance appears, he excuses himself trying to calmly reach for a glass of blood without alarming the innocent waiter. 

Luckily enough, he finds a corner he deems safe; close enough to the crowd to maintain his class, but far enough to maintain his sanity. The blood in his glass hits the bottom quickly and he gets another refill, his mom eyeing him with furrowed eyebrows from the other end of the hall. He gives her a reassuring smile, the corners of his lips rising along with his flute holding hand in a silent salute. She smiles back and her attention seemingly returns to her guests although Jeno knows that internally her mind is with him. He appreciates the sentiment; she’s the only one who understands after all. Always will be. 

Weirdly enough, even when his mother’s concerned gaze leaves him he feels observed all the same.

The feeling intensifies as time goes by; he knows that his vampire senses are heightened, the auras of the guests – well suppressed or not – ever-present. It’s easy for them to mingle, for him to sense every little thing around him as he wanders around the hall, his own aura overlapping with them. But there is something, _someone_ different among the crowd. In this medley of vampire energy, two are loud, persistent, their melody deafening; and to Jeno, even though there is no reason he can think for this to be happening, it feels deliberate. They _want_ Jeno to know that they’re here. That they’re looking. They _want_ him to search. 

For a long while Jeno doesn’t. He’s curious, of course he is; but he knows better than to indulge in the challenge of another vampire right now, with his parents and their respectful guests around him, ancient fangs and his status threats looming above his head like a guillotine blade. 

But whoever they are, they’re unwavering. Their aura is prodding, invisible tendrils of energy poking on Jeno’s own, and Jeno’s patience is running thin with every little disturbance. He tries looking around; clusters of people all across the royal hall, talking, drinking, not paying attention to Jeno for a single moment. The feeling grows more and more powerful with every passing second, as if the threat is closing in and it drives Jeno so crazy that he doesn’t even register the man right behind him until his breath feels warm on his cold skin next to his ear. 

“Looking for me?” 

Jeno almost drops his glass and stains the carpet with alcohol infused blood, his vampiric reflexes disoriented, his eyes shutting to not face the inevitable; but nothing happens. When he peels his eyes open again, his glass is not on the floor, and there is no mess, no commotion, no waiters scrambling to clean after him.

Instead there’s a man – _another_ man, Jeno belatedly realizes – holding his glass in his ring adorned fingers, swirling the crimson liquid around before he brings the rim to his lips and drinks it whole, leaving the empty glass to a pass-by waiter’s serving tray with a polite hint-of-a-smile. Jeno follows his movements like a hawk; eyes falling on the vampire’s blood stained lips more than he wants to admit and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The man in front of him smirks, licking his lips clean with his eyes never leaving Jeno’s, something that elicits a chuckle out of the man behind him, someone Jeno was pushed to forget about for a second, but now comes back in his head full force to shake him out of his trance. 

“You...your auras,” eloquence doesn’t come to him as quickly as he would like and he clears his throat, straightens his back, and tries again with more confidence, as he should. “You were challenging me.” There is no objection, but of course there isn’t. “Why?”

“Isn’t that what auras are for?” The vampire that was behind him now stands in the front, his tall figure looming over the other man, but not over Jeno. It feeds his ego, the power he knows he has, and prompts him to find his ground again. But something in the vampire’s grin makes him wary, still. 

“Not in a place like this. You’re aware of our surroundings, aren’t you? A mistake, poor aura handling, and you’re done.”

The other man scoffs; he straight up _scoffs_ in Jeno’s face, dismissing his statement as if every powerful, age-old vampire in this gala doesn’t mean anything to him. As if they are no match and could never be. It sends unwanted shivers down the ridge of Jeno’s spine. 

“Easily provoked, aren’t you, Jeno Lee? I thought royal vampires would know better. Isn’t this what they keep telling us, Jaemin?”

Jaemin, the taller man of the two, stops a waiter and nonchalantly gets himself a drink as well, like their conversation is trivial to him, nothing but small talk. He takes a sip and his grin returns, that unflappable rise of his lip corners that troubles Jeno every second it stays on the man’s face. Even without his aura Jaemin has _challenge_ written all over his body.

“Now, now. You know it, Renjun; when challenged, you bite back. It’s unwritten law.” 

“Who are you?”

Renjun, the smaller man of the two, steals the flute out of Jaemin’s hands and drinks more, despite downing Jeno’s entire glass mere minutes ago. The blood does wonders to the mind – hazing the senses with every drop down the throat but the man looks undisturbed, his eyes alert and glinting. It adds to Jeno’s wariness; those two have the earmarks of trouble, this much is clear, and Jeno doesn’t want anything to do with it. 

“In here, that’s not important, is it? The whole reception is about you. Who _you_ are, what _you_ do. Do you really wanna know about us?”

Jeno knows that he shouldn’t breathe into this fire, that he shouldn’t nudge further, that he should call it a night and go talk business with another blood sucking businessman that gives zero fucks about him, who he is, what he does, what he _wants_ to do. Those two vampires; they couldn’t be more wrong. This gala has nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to do with Jeno. Something warm pools in Jeno’s chest, akin to rage, to flames, and he decides to fight fire with fire. 

“It seems that you don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s Jeno’s turn to scoff. “You don’t know me. You know my name, but you don’t know _me_. If you did, you wouldn’t go around using your aura to intimidate.”

“Didn’t it work?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Our auras,” Jaemin doesn’t lose his cool, but his grin deepens instead – Jeno’s pit of flames flickers dangerously, his aura slipping out of his control for a single moment before he can restrain it. “They bothered you enough to look around,” Jaemin reaches out, tucking a single unkempt tuft of hair behind Jeno’s ear. “Enough for your aura to slip out of control. Just now. No?” 

Jeno curses internally. His dad always tells him; no slip-ups. There is no space for slip-ups, not for _them,_ not for who they are. One slip-up and, like he said, he is _done._ Jaemin’s smile becomes wide, unveiling pearly whites, sharp fangs. Jeno gulps. They both hear it. 

“Still wanting to know who we are?” Renjun feeds Jeno’s inner turmoil with his sultry voice in close proximity, words spoken right next to his ear like Jaemin did a while ago. Their auras envelop him like a blanket, their voices trickling like the liquid consumed abundantly around the room; ignoble blood like thick velvet, sensory overload. Every drop-like word splashes in Jeno’s head, mental barriers drowning in them, disarmed by their energy; a moment away from slipping up. 

And at that moment, in the seconds before his lips part with an answer, it dawns on him – a flash of clarity, in all their strife. He doesn’t want to be here. Before all this, before _them,_ that’s all there was in his head. He really doesn’t want to spend one more moment around these people, words he doesn’t even grasp the meaning of, conversations he doesn’t care about one bit reaching his ears – he wants none of it. He wonders if those two, Jaemin and Renjun, strange and disquieting as they are, can help with that.

He voices that out instead of whatever he was about to say. Two pairs of fangs glimmer in front of him.

* * *

They needed nothing else, it seems.

He feels someone’s grip around his wrist – he follows, it’s Renjun, and his hold is stronger than Jeno thought possible – and after what feels like hours of meandering, a door closes behind them with a thump, music and voices muffled. Renjun lets go just for the sake of looking around; he doesn’t know where he is, Jeno realizes, and he chuckles a bit despite everything. Just a short glance around and he knows that this is his father’s office; walls covered with meters-tall bookcases, the back of every book bent from use even when the number of them exceeds expectations. That’s a vampire’s oddity – infinite time, infinite knowledge, and his father is a prime example. 

Jaemin wolf whistles, his back against the heavy door frame and he strikes Jeno as hesitant almost, something that he discards from his head when Jaemin walks further into the room and comfortably leans right against his father’s sturdy, oak desk without a single care in the world. 

“Damn, you live like that?” he jeers and Renjun rolls his eyes even though the remark makes him smile, following his stead and taking his place right next to Jaemin, settling for the chair right in front of the desk instead; ornate and golden, maroon cushions dipping under his weight, luxurious. 

“You _don’t?_ ” Jeno bites back, eyebrow raising; these events get swarmed with affluent guests – people who drown in riches, who will move around this room and won’t bat an eye. Jaemin and Renjun should be the same – heirs of a company, spoiled sons of another archaic vampire who has been accumulating wealth ever since the dawn of time – but this is not what they suggest. Their words emerge in Jeno’s head again. Renjun, dripping sarcasm, called him _royal. “Isn’t this what they keep telling us?”_ he said, and no one talks like this for them, no one dares; unless they don’t belong here. These can only be words derived from ignorance. “You...don’t.”

“There goes our cover, Jaem. Well done, moron.”

“Do we even need a cover anymore? Jeno won’t rat us out. Will you, Jen?”

The uncalled for nickname almost makes Jeno flinch but he holds the urge to wince inside, shaking his head instead. He can’t give away his only means of escaping certain boredom and an imminent existential crisis. He has more questions to ask, anyways. 

“If you’re not supposed to be here...how did you end up here in the first place? This mansion has guards. Lots of them.” 

“And this mansion has kitchens. With cooks. And waiters. Also lots of them.” 

Jeno doesn’t pride himself in being the most observant but it embarrasses him to only _now_ notice how the men’s suits look like; white shirts, black blazers, dark red ties and a single rose in the front pocket – the ensemble of every waiter for the night. It’s silly how they didn’t get caught, but at the same time, it’s the perfect plan. It makes Jeno laugh, the slit-eyed laughter of his, and it catches the vampires off guard. “And nobody gave a single fuck about two waiters walking around, letting their auras go berserk? Should I be worried?” 

“Do you have anything to be worried about? I thought this whole thing happens for charity,” Renjun claims, taking the rose out of his pocket and in his hands, absentmindedly fiddling with the petals. “Who wants to raid a charity? You’re helping _children._ Plus, no cash.”

“I mean...we _did_ raid a charity. We currently have the _heir_ locked in a room,” Jaemin reasons with a side smile. 

“Locked?” Jeno turns back to check, but he doesn't need to.

“Calm down, sweetcheeks,” he reassures, “we wouldn’t lock you up, per se. Unless you want us to.” 

Renjun lets a scarlet petal touch the carpeted floor with a chuckle, and Jeno, now his eyes on them again, follows it. “You have nothing to worry about,” he sweetly affirms, and Jeno doesn’t know if he can trust him, but he does nonetheless. “We don’t bite.” 

His finger catches on a single thorn having escaped the trimming and blood pools weakly right where his skin gave away. Jeno can’t avert his eyes from it, he can’t even blink; it’s vampire blood – deeper in shade, in flavor, in effect. It’s capable of driving a man crazy; the strongest vice there is, nectar straight from the Gods’ chalise. Jeno has never tasted it, and suddenly, he _craves._

It causes a shift in the air – something dangerously palpable around them, taut bowstring ready to snap. Renjun feels it; Jaemin feels it too. They exchange a look that Jeno can’t quite cognize, and the moment before Renjun brings his finger between his lips, the tip of his tongue lapping on the slowly trickling blood, lasts too long, and Jeno gets filled with impatience.

“We don’t bite–” and Renjun laces every word with something wanton this time, Jaemin cutting him even before he manages to finish his sentence. 

“Unless you want us to.”

  
  


Jeno’s limbs work before his brain does, legs taking him closer and _closer,_ the smell of delectable, mouth watering blood taking over. He stops right in front of Renjun, standing right between his parted legs and even though he looks down at him, towering over his small frame, Renjun holds his reins right in his bloody fingers. 

“What do you want, Jeno?” Renjun asks, even though the evil glint in his eyes betrays that he knows what Jeno wants– no, _needs._ And he is keeping it from him. How cruel. Jeno doesn’t deserve it; not getting what he wants, what he needs. It’s not what he’s used to, and he isn’t the one to beg.

“Poor guy mustn’t have had it before, right? Vampire blood. Have you fed on a vampire before, Jen?” Jaemin slots himself right behind Jeno, not unlike their first interaction. His fingers wrap around Jeno’s wrists and pull until they’re crossed behind his back. He lets it happen; his head is elsewhere. He has half the mind to shake his head as a reply to the question. 

“Words, Jeno,” Renjun ironically reminds him of his manners.

“No,” Jeno forces himself to properly talk, his fangs appearing, prepared. “Never. It’s not allowed here.” 

“It isn't? That must really suck,” Jaemin’s voice drips with faux concern. “You want it though, don’t you? Renjun’s blood.”

“Yes.” No hesitation. He can almost taste it on his tongue. Or can he? Is it any different than a human’s? Any different than the one they serve out of this door, than the one he can get anytime he wants, from anywhere he would like? Word has it that it is. Curiosity drives him to make an effort to release his wrists from Jaemin’s grip, reach for Renjun, have a taste for himself; but it’s fruitless.

“I see,” Jaemin tightens his hold and Jeno hisses, but a glare from Renjun is enough to silence him. “What are you willing to do for it?” 

Renjun smirks at that – it’s evident that he is used to Jaemin’s antics, his teasing, this cruelty Jeno has found himself a victim of. He wants to think about it, take his time, consider his options; but there is nothing in his head other than a hunger shaped fog and Jeno can’t see anything past it. So, he slips up. 

“Anything,” he mutters through almost gritted teeth, “anything. What do you want? There must be something you want.”

He can’t see Jaemin, but from the tone of his voice he can picture his face as clear as day; _victory must look good on him_ , he thinks, and the fact that this lights up another flame inside him, this time roaring with arousal, would be a bother if he wasn’t so far gone. 

“Is that right, Renjun? Do we want anything? Do _you_ want anything? It’s your blood after all, love.”

“Don’t call me that when we’re about to eat,” Renjun scolds him with no real malice in him, “that’s only for the bedroom.” 

“You hurt me. Don’t take away my only personality trait.” 

“If calling me names defines you, what would you do without me?” 

And it fuels the burning inside Jeno like gasoline – how they talk like he is not present. How their tone dips in adoration even when they speak nothing but snarky remarks, how Jaemin pushes Jeno down, forcing him on his knees right between Renjun’s own just to lean in and lock his and Renjun’s lips in a heated, brief kiss. 

“Oh, Renjun. I would be nothing without you.” 

“Eat first, be sappy later, babe.”

And just like that their attention falls on Jeno again, right between them now with the expensive cashmere of his slacks against the carpet, his head tipped back, eyes still glazed with insatiable want. It makes Renjun laugh – how pliant Jeno is, how their lowly blood renders him like putty, malleable enough for them to dig their fingers in and shape him to their liking as much as their heart desires. He reaches out, and with blood dried on his fingers he traces them on Jeno’s cheek, careful, almost tender; and Jeno relishes in it, head tilting for more. 

“Jaemin, look at him,” Renjun coos, and red flushes on Jeno’s face, “isn't he adorable? Little rich blood sucker. All for us.” His fingers move from Jeno’s face to the side of his neck, fingertips grazing where his pulse point would be if his heart was still beating, and they close around his tie, silk sumptuous under his light touch. Everything is slow, caring, sweet; until it isn’t. 

Skin meets cheap polyester – Renjun yanks on Jeno’s tie until his cheek lands on his crotch, his face buried between his legs, compromising. He drops the tie when he knows that Jeno won’t move, when he seems comfortable enough and he cards his fingers in Jeno’s slicked back hair ruining the styling without regard. Jeno gasps and then sighs, breathing in and filling his lungs with _Renjun, Renjun, Renjun_ – until the strong scent of iron wafts around him again, another surge of hunger clouding his senses. 

“Do you want this?” He can hear Jaemin but he can’t see him so he squirms just enough, the corner of his eye falling on red dripping down the vampire’s wrist from a bite-like scar, in abandon, thick drops wasted among the carpet’s threads. He can’t have it – he absolutely _can’t_ afford this, not when all this blood could be rolling on his tongue, could be giving him what he needs, what he is here for. He growls; animalistic enough, conveying his nature, and both Jaemin and Renjun revel in it. 

“I’m not sure if you can have this, Jeno,” Jaemin continues, ruthless, his arm moving past Jeno just for the liquid to dribble from his veins in Renjun’s mouth, the man’s tongue out to feed on every scarlet bead. “This is foul blood, you know? The blood of a _commoner._ ” 

“He’s right,” Renjun agrees, sadistic, a little bit dazed from what Jaemin fed him, “maybe you’re right for not allowing it. You can’t have our tainted blood, can you? Not after feeding on the best of the best.” 

“That’s– that’s not _true,_ ” Jeno argues, muffled, face still where Renjun put him, not wanting to move and risk what he’s already worked so hard for. He works _hard,_ can’t they see it? Can’t they see how much he wants it? “I don’t want to feed on the– on the best. I want to feed on _that._ ”

“I don’t think you wanna feed on this,” Jaemin pushes on, even when Jeno shakes his head in denial, that _no,_ he _wants_ it, _wants_ to feed on _that,_ right _now,_ right _here._ “I think you’re just desperate for it. You’d just drink from anyone that would bare their neck for you nicely. The son of SM’s owner, worldwide famous, wanting his fix. Falling on his knees just for _anyone_ to get it. Isn’t that right, Jeno?” 

The words press on him roughly as much as Renjun’s sole on his crotch, without a warning, without mercy. He whines, only then getting a grasp of his aching hard cock and how it twitches under the pressure. His body responds to everything they give him and he has never felt like this, he has never felt so small and yet part of something so _big._ Because this truly must be big, if he wants this so much – more than anything supposedly huge he has ever possessed. 

He must have done something good; something Renjun liked, something Jaemin wanted, because the pressure on his cock that slowly drove him on the edge ceases to exist and he feels strong hands under his armpits hoisting his entire body up, knees buckling after being bent for long. 

“Watch it.” It’s Jaemin, the one who moves his ragdoll-esque body around and Renjun, the one who helps him turn and get back down, ass sitting on skinny but firm thighs instead of the solid ground. Being on Renjun’s lap feels good and he lets himself relax, just until he catches a glimpse of Jaemin sealing his wrist bite before leaving one on Renjun’s own, letting the blood flow once again without touching his mouth, and the restlessness comes back to haunt him. He doesn’t squirm this time, and they both notice.

“You’re good, Jeno,” Jaemin cradles his face instead of Renjun now, flashing a proud smile before he leans in just to share an iron tasting kiss with Jeno that throws every little sliver of sanity he had left out of his head indefinitely. “You’ve been really good. You can have what you want now.”

And he almost can’t believe it when Jaemin’s thumb, Renjun’s blood smeared thick on the digit, finally, _finally_ pushes down on his lips, entering his mouth. 

He can understand now – why people forbid this. Why this feeling isn’t for everyone to delight in, why he can’t drink this on the daily without any restrictions. It tastes like pure _sin;_ if human blood is sustenance, if it’s what comprises his diet, this is the once in a while cheat day – something you know you can’t have, but you crave, and crave and _crave._ And when you get it, when you give in, it is what pushes you downhill. 

He can’t hear himself moan but they can, the high overtaking anything else, Jaemin retracting his finger, guiding Renjun’s wrist against Jeno’s lips, just to let him suckle on what he begged for and rightfully earned. 

And it is their reward, this; royalty succumbing to lowly temptation, from riches to rags, an ancient, pure-blood boy’s knees on the ground and their foul blood in his mouth, Jeno looking like he would rather taste nothing else. 

While he feeds on blood, they feed on power, and that has its own kind of irresistible euphoria to offer. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/yeekiies) !!!


End file.
